


A Taste of Dangerous

by Ponderosa (ponderosa121)



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Cocaine, Cunnilingus, F/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: You want to live a little. To take a risk and try something new. Something you’d never do on your own. You want a taste of somethingdangerous.





	A Taste of Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Written for xdandymandyxd who gave me a great prompt over on the Late Nights at LUX discord server! Thanks too for encouraging me to try writing this kind of fic.

You didn’t really believe Lucifer owned the place until he invited you up to his penthouse. And now that you’re staring at the glitter of Los Angeles spread out for miles in every direction, you still don’t know what you’re doing here. When you and your friends got in to Lux tonight, you honestly didn’t expect to hook up with anyone at all, let alone be the one that ended up catching Lucifer’s attention.

“Enjoying the view?” Lucifer asks as he rejoins you on the balcony. He draws close to stand behind you, igniting a sizzle in your belly as he wraps an arm around you and presses a fresh drink in your hand. The night isn’t exactly cold, but the back of your jumpsuit is cut to your waist and the warmth of his body against you feels amazing.

“It’s beautiful,” you say. Standing here makes you feel a little dizzy, or maybe it’s just the sensation of Lucifer running his knuckles down the bare skin of your arm.

“Isn’t it,” he muses, breath warm in your hair, and your belly tightens at the thought that he means _you_. Your entire body feels attuned to the moment, hyper aware of little details like how silken smooth the fabric of his suit jacket is or the visible stitching on the cuff when you glance down at his arm curling around you. Or the rise and fall of his chest and the faint nudge of his cock soft in his pants. “Oh, you’re trembling. Are you cold, darling?”

You shake your head, but he leads you inside anyway, where there’s no occasional breeze to ripple through your hair. He takes the drink back since you barely sipped at it, and he smiles at you with that dark, predatory smile that somehow doesn’t make you want to run. It should, some small part of you thinks. You don’t belong in this place.

He downs first your drink and then his own and leaves the tumblers on a piano that must cost a fortune. “Now then, what’s on the menu?” he asks, surveying you up and down. He puts a hand to your chin to tip your face up so you look him straight in the eyes.

You can’t seem to look away.

“What is it you desire?”

Something pulls at your mind. Peels away the layers of hesitation. Strips and discards the first things that you think of to dig deeper and claw out what you’ve been feeling since he first approached you: You want to live a little. To take a risk and try something new. Something you’d never do on your own. You want a taste of something _dangerous._

It should make you squirm, admitting that.

Instead you stay caught in the trap of his gaze, left floating for a moment until his hand leaves your chin to instead slide against your cheek and cup your face.

“Lovely,” he says as his thumb sweeps across your parted lips. In your peripheral you see him produce a baggie and give it a little shake. “You’re an easy one. I’ve got the perfect thing for you.”

You tell him you’ve only ever smoked pot and he doesn’t seem surprised. Briefly, you wonder if he owns this club because he makes money dealing drugs--if what he’s got in the baggie is going to get you hooked--but the electricity skittering up your spine is exactly what you wanted, a nervous thrill balanced by how very confident Lucifer seems before he leans in and kisses you, slow and deep, every lick of his tongue against yours a vow that you’re going to have a damn good time.

Fuck inhibitions, you think. You’re going to get laid, you’re going to do some drugs, and you’re not going to regret a thing. You push his coat off his shoulders and he grins against your mouth as he starts undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, shaking his arms free and leaving a few thousand dollars worth of Tom Ford puddled on the floor. There’s a vee of skin at the open collar of his shirt and you scrape a kiss there that makes him respond with a throaty, pleased laugh.

“Now then...,” he tells you, hands on your shoulders and sliding down your arms. He catches you loosely by the wrists to gently pull you away from where you’ve been running your hands greedily along his sides. He’s beautifully slender for his height, all sleek lean muscle, and you don’t want to stop touching him. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we?”

You breathe a yes and Lucifer leads you there, rescuing you with an embrace when you’re so caught up in him that you stumble against the step. He lifts you up easily--more than easily, as if you weigh nothing at all!--and your legs hook around his waist as he carries you the last few steps to the bed. He seems impossibly strong as he puts a knee to the edge of the mattress and lays you down in the center of the bed, staying poised above you to kiss you again, harder this time than the last, his tongue pushing deep into your mouth.

His hand cupped at your ass and the weight of him on top of you makes the ache in your clit and the wetness that you’ve felt spreading between your thighs become impossible to ignore. Your entire body is ready for him and he’s hardly touched you. You buck your hips up trying to grind against him, and to kiss him back, and to undo the buttons of his shirt and the tie-front of your jumpsuit all at the same time.

You somehow manage to get his shirt open and undo your top and there are still way, _way_ too many layers of clothing between you and Lucifer.

He seems to feel the same way. “Things were so much simpler when tunics were all the rage,” he says, breaking the kiss to sit up and shed his shirt. You wriggle halfway out of your jumpsuit as Lucifer undoes his pants, and the way his gaze starts at your mouth and winds down your body lights you on fire.

He abandons the struggle with his own clothes to help you shimmy out of your jumpsuit. When he’s got it off you, he tosses it away like a forgotten thing in favor of the sight of you and skims his hands up the tops of your thighs. Lucifer looks at your body and savors every inch of visible skin, from the hollow at your throat to the slopes of your shoulders, from the tips of your breasts to the soft curves of your belly. He makes you feel fucking _beautiful_.

When he peels down your underwear, you already know he’s planning to go down on you. Slowly he spreads your legs and drags the point of his tongue up the inside of your thigh. You’ve had plenty of guys eat you out before, but never one who looked so hungry for you.

“I haven’t forgotten about our deal--about what you desire,” he says. He’s so close the words make his lips brush against the tight ache of your clit. “However, you should have at least one amazing orgasm before the mind-altering substances come into play.”

“For comparison,” you guess aloud. Already, your thighs are shaking. Your heart is thumping so loudly you can hear it in your head.

“Indeed.”

“Devil’s in the details, right?”

Lucifer’s grin is fierce. “Oh, you’re about to discover just how detailed the Devil can be.”

He doesn’t waste any more time before putting his mouth on you, and oh. _Oh…._ He’s shockingly gentle about it, teasing almost, lips and tongue learning the shape of you inside and out. Your hands fist in the duvet and you can’t stop staring at the flex of his back, the curious ripple of scars there, the faint shift of muscles in his shoulders as he slides his hands under you to lift you closer to his mouth. He’s relentless in his pursuit of your orgasm, bringing you to the edge twice with the light flick of his tongue before he curves a finger into you, flattens his tongue against you and gets you off _hard_.

“Now _that_ was amazing, wasn’t it?” he says. You crack your eyes open and he’s wiping his face and looking at you with smug self-satisfaction that carries a vague undercurrent of need. He wants to hear you say it, you realize, to know he’s done right by you, and when you gasp out a very enthusiastic yes that faint tension in him gets swept away and he turns languid, stretching out beside you, his skin pale against the dark of the sheets.

That immediacy of needing to touch him dims with the satisfaction of orgasm, and you stretch your arms above you, toes curling and a smile on your face. As your breathing starts to return to normal, Lucifer drops little kisses against the curve of your hip and he traces his fingertips around the divots of your knee. You shift, turning slightly towards him and reaching out to run your fingers through his hair and down to touch his face, the soft scratch of his stubble tickling against your palm. You’re in LA, so it’s not like pretty faces are hard to find, but he’s special somehow... _magnetic_.

“Ready for more?” he asks, dark lashes lowering coyly. You honestly aren’t sure. You feel tender and flushed in the way that only a really good orgasm leaves you, but you’re also still aching to know what it’ll feel like if he fucked you.

You pause, recognizing that here you are, naked and glowing, and Lucifer still has his pants on. “You haven’t even-- Oh my g--”

“Gotten started, darling,” he says, cutting you off. A little tartly in fact, and well, he calls himself the Devil, so maybe this is not the time to use the Lord’s name in vain.

Lucifer rises to hover over you again, weight braced on his wrists and one knee between yours as he dips his head down to kiss you. You cradle the back of his head as you kiss back, his hair slipping between your fingers when he breaks away to nose your jaw aside and tongue a kiss to your neck. The point of his nose drags across your collarbone as he nips and kisses his way down your chest, each breath you take begging wordlessly for him to bring his tongue to where your nipples are peaked.

“Lucifer, please!” you cry, back arching and ready to sell your soul just to have him rub his face, or his tongue, or anything against the hard points of your nipples, but he merely brings his mouth back to yours and kisses you quiet again.

You melt under the soft press of his lips and your hands wander across the breadth of his back, skimming across his twinned scars. You’ve never touched scars so big and broad, and you can’t help but wonder what happened. He doesn’t seem to notice when you touch them; probably he’s had many lovers who have ran their hands over them. You don’t exactly dwell on them, luxuriating in all the skin you can reach, the tips of your fingers able to sneak just under the waist of his pants.

Eventually Lucifer draws back to stare into your eyes and you feel that strange pull at the back of your brain again.

“I think it’s time to make it snow,” he says, and produces the baggie again like magic. 

Knowing for sure that the bag is full of cocaine and not pills almost makes you laugh. Of course it is. Rich as is he, he must be swimming in it. Most of what you know about coke you’ve learned from movies, but with his money, you presume it must be the good stuff. Your friends are gonna flip when you tell them _if_ you tell them--because this is miles away from vaping or edibles or rolling on Molly.

“Don’t move,” he says, sitting up and undoing the bag to tip out a pile of powder onto your chest. He doesn’t seem to care when you startle and a bit spills off onto the sheets. “More importantly, don’t sneeze,” he adds, as he pulls a coin out of his pocket and starts dividing the pile into two long lines that run from between your breasts down towards your navel.

“Aren’t you supposed to use a credit card for that?” you ask, trying to keep still as the cool edge of the coin passes down your belly. It tickles a bit, and the way he goes about trailing it across your skin makes you all the more aware that he’s partly doing this to make you squirm. Lucifer clearly wants you to get all worked up again.

“Not to worry. There’s not a single chunky rock in this bag. This is pre-ground, premium cocaine. The best blow money can buy. Well, second best if you had a cock, twenty dollars, and wanted to roleplay a little game of Devil turned desperate rent boy,” he tells you. He picks a bit up onto the pad of his finger and rubs it into his gums. “It’s only cut with sugar, nothing nasty, I promise. Doesn’t mean you can’t get hooked and wouldn’t sell your mother for a few grams, but this is what you asked for right? A little taste of dangerous, I believe were the words you used.”

They were and you do. You want it so bad it’s knotting up your throat. Still, there’s a thread of fear in you. It’s that same nervousness that’s kept you from trying stuff like this in the first place.

“Will I… Am I going get hooked?” you ask him.

Lucifer’s eyes gleam. “It’s not up to me. Surely you know that some humans are more susceptible to chemical addiction.”

You nod, because yeah, of course you know that. You also know you could just...choose not to do this if you really wanted.

“Right then,” Lucifer says, beaming at you. “I suppose let’s find out.”

Pillow propped under your head and looking down at the lines of coke trailing down your chest, they seem impossibly long. It’s got to be enough to kill a person. You stare as he fishes a little metal straw out of his pocket and curls over you to snort most of one long line. Your belly trembles and your cunt clenches as he tips his head back, pausing hardly more than a few seconds before he does most of the other. He throws his head back again, mouth parted and tongue toying at the point of a tooth before he sniffs and you notice the ancient looking coin is back in his hand. He looks electrified, a little wild, and for the first time there’s a crackling darkness at his edges.

He flips the coin and it spins dizzyingly in the air before he catches it deftly and scoops up a tiny little bit of the coke on the edge of it. He lifts it up where you can see it clearly and then holds it away he’s withholding a treat for a dog as he reminds you again not to sneeze. Pinch your nostril shut, he tells you, just like in the movies, and then rattles off a bunch of other helpful instructions that you hardly remember as his leg slides along yours and he shifts his weight. You feel the hard press of his cock through his pants against your leg as he guides the coin to your nose and gives you your first bump.

The coke’s not what you expected when he told you it was cut with sugar. It’s definitely not _sweet_. It also doesn’t burn, or hurt, it’s more like…. Like you took a huge whiff of something menthol and you can’t quite feel your nose anymore before a chemical, gasoline taste drips down the back of your throat. You’ll never, ever forget that taste. Or the rush that creeps up on you and overtakes you like a wave.

Your heart was speeding when Lucifer first brought you up here to his penthouse. Now, you’re in fucking _heaven_ and your heart’s at that pace again, a frantic slamming in your chest that feels like it’s going to crack straight through your ribs. Your hand has somehow found its way to his arm, fingers gripping his bicep. You feel for a moment like you could stop time and just hang in this perfect, beautiful moment and you tell him all of this in a rush of words.

“Told you it was the good stuff, and I can assure you, Heaven is a lot more of a drag,” he says, and you see that now, finally he’s shedding his pants. He kneels between your thighs, light haloed behind him and his cock hard and gorgeous. You want to simultaneously claw at his stomach and use his hipbones as handles, to tangle your fingers in his hair and wrap your arms around him to hold him as tight as you possibly can. You want to do all of this even as you’re spreading yourself open for him as best you can. If you were mostly sated a minute ago, you don’t remember it now. You’re back to being primed to fuck, and Lucifer grins as if he knows it.

There’s still coke left on your chest when he slides into you.

Sex has never felt so amazing. You feel _wanton_ , like you did earlier when you and friends spent a little time on the dancefloor downstairs. When there were people all around grinding and swaying to the music. Only you’re not the least bit self conscious like you were then. In fact, you tell Lucifer that you wish he was fucking you in the middle of Lux, so that everyone could watch. You feel powerful, like you could take on the whole world right now in a fight and win.

You bare your teeth and tell him you want to feel it in the morning, that you want him to use you raw.

You say a lot of other things too, thoughts diving into your head and wheeling away again like thousands of little birds.

Lucifer drinks in everything you say, hangs on every word, and sends turns of phrase back at you, quick and sharp as gunshots. He sniffs here and there, his eyes and pupils wide, and then drops his head, gaze dark through his lashes to focus--

Focus on fucking into you hard enough that the slam of his hips pushes you back with each thrust. You stretch your arms out overhead again and just let him use you, trusting that he’s got more control than you, even though he’s done ten times the amount of coke. You marvel at it as you lift your hips to meet the push of his cock and you’re not the least bit shy about making noise when he cups your breasts, licks up the coke still left between them, and pushes them together. You feel that same weird numbing that makes your teeth fuzzy when his tongue finally drags across your nipple, and a fresh tingling thrill rushes through your body.

You’ve never felt so good and right in your skin than you do right now. Lucifer’s hands and tongue on you feels like he’s molding you, shaping you into something new. You imagine your soul straining within the flesh of your body, luminous and perfect, and for a moment you want to cry it’s so good.

“Lucifer,” you moan, your knees drawing up to trap him in the press of your thighs. You want to say a million things. To tell him that in all the ways that you’ve ever felt inadequate, you’ve never considered that your soul is a precious perfect secret that belongs only to you.

He sees the shift in your expression and his hands slip to your sides and curl under you. He rocks against you more slowly, no longer a frenetic race to the end, but making it so you move together as one. It’s a deep purposeful slide the way he fucks you now, hips grinding at the peak of each thrust to spark that same fiery pleasure as when it’d been his tongue dragging flat over your clit.

You hold fast to his back, close your eyes and let yourself get lost in the sensation of his body moving against yours. Your heart is still racing and you’ve never been able to focus this clearly on the tiniest of things. You notice everything at once it seems: the direction the air is circulating and how warmer it is in the slight space between your bodies; the thrum of Lucifer’s heartbeat so much slower than yours; the slight drag in the sheets when before they’d felt as smooth as water; how the noise of the city still finds its way into the room but the wet slip of Lucifer’s cock as he fucks you sounds deafening in comparison; the smell of sweat on your skin and oh, you notice the very moment when time seems to skip and you abandon that clarity to focus on the lust still swirling fitfully inside you.

Unleashed, that need flares back up and takes hold of you again. Has you bucking under Lucifer until he pulls out and pulls you back on top of him. It’s three seconds of eternity before you’re straddling him and fucking down onto his cock again, your hands pinning his shoulders to the bed as you ride him hard until you both come.

You’re left floating again, breathless, finding your way back to yourself as you slump forward against his chest.

After a while, he tucks a bit of hair behind your ear. “You’ll need another bump soon if you want to keep feeling this good,” he says, and you can hear his smirk at the innuendo.

Already you’re coming down. You can feel yourself losing the euphoria, and it’s terrifying how badly you want to return to that crystalline joy, that manufactured bliss. You’re not sure if you want it back, not this way. It’ll be better maybe, knowing that all of this is going to be a single amazing memory.

You roll off of him, feeling raw in more than one way. He slips out of the bed and comes back with a little washcloth. “Ah yes,” Lucifer says, wiping you down gently. It’s as if he can read your mind when he adds, “The only problem with this sort of high is it inevitably lets you down. Harder every time, for you humans.”

“Can I stay until morning?” you ask. You can’t bear the thought of leaving here alone right now.

“You don’t snore, do you?

You...don’t think that you do. You tell him as much.

“Good enough,” he says, and his smile is back, wry and devious. “Next time you want to flirt with danger, how about we skip the drugs and go straight to the sex in public. Or maybe a bit of rope bondage if you’re into it. That’s a much easier drop to deal with.”

“Will there be a next time?” you ask, honestly surprised.

“We can come to some sort of arrangement, I’m sure,” Lucifer tells you. “Unless you’re done with taking risks and trying new things already.”

You shake your head and say that no, of course you want there to be a next time, and somewhere in the back of your head you wonder if maybe you’ve set yourself up to get addicted to something-- _someone_ \--far more dangerous.

“Lovely,” Lucifer purrs, sliding back into bed with you and it’s a deal.


End file.
